a child seats his letters
occasionally scratching head
before the ox of burden
leads him out to field.
Inside, back bent, this illuminated
being, this wretched rabbi
cramped, listens
to blue shadows,
weighting
his unrolled parchment
with synagogue and cross.
And listens as if then and now
bells ring, cattle blaahhs,
children scold and scream.
Sounds like miss-shapen strokes -
not a word written down.
Yet meaning exists
as if truth has no source
if one reads
just a little more.
* Published in "Dance on the Edge"
Marc Chagall (IPA: ʃʌ-ɡɑːl); [shuh-GAHL] [1](7 July 1887 - 28 March 1985), was a Jewish Belarusian artist, born in Belarus (then Russian Empire) and naturalized French in 1937, associated with several key art movements and was one of the most successful artists of the twentieth century. [1]
Published by Sheri Fresonke Harper
Sheri works as a freelance writer, novelist and poet. She worked in the aviation industry at the Port of Seattle and Boeing Company for 20 years as a systems analyst/architect where she edited and wrote over... View profile
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21 Comments
Post a CommentI admire your depth of knowledge!
I love the dreamy quality of this poem. Like Allene says, thank you for pulling me into this painting!
OMG, Sheri, thank-you for pulling me into this painting... and I don't know if I've even seen it, but I have to go there now! Your work is art in itself. Where can we see what you've published? Please...
I like this poem very much and Chagall's work has almost seemed mystical and magical to me, very dream-like.
I've never heard of this painter. Perhaps you should do a biographical piece on him. The poem is great.
Excellent work here, Sheri.
great poem,thanks Sheri
Wow! Awesome. I need to go look at the painting now. :)
Beautiful poem. I felt like I was watching the painting.
I love Chagall's work, and your poem does it justice!